


The Loving Time

by myadamantiumheart



Series: The Desert King [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2013-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-10 22:47:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myadamantiumheart/pseuds/myadamantiumheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason misses and Jason mourns and Jason keeps on remembering.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Loving Time

Some nights it physically hurts him how much he misses Bruce and Talia; he sprawls himself out over Dité’s chest and tries not to claw at the silk sheets, kisses the elegant collar bone of his remaining lover and doesn’t quite beg Dité to fuck him just like Bruce always did. Gentle fingers splay at the small of his back, right over the thin, pale pink scar from the first time Damian had to let the man of two colors have him out of propriety and the laws of hospitality. Dité’s mouth tastes like spiced wine and caramels and he moans, he writhes, he lets his body plead with the man below him until the fingers slide down from the dimple of his spine and slick themselves up inside of him.

Some nights it just hurts so much to feel the hole that is still so raw inside of him.

But he must go on, he must.

———-

Dité is enamored with their newest boy, Timotheé; Jason cannot blame him. He’s a little enamored as well, if he’s quite honest with himself. Another northerner, so lost and adrift in the dunes, just like he was when Bruce first brought him here. When he watches Timotheé slap the Prince across the jaw, open handed in a way that must sting him badly, he thinks, privately, that Bruce and Talia would be just a little in love with Timotheé too. 

For they love their Prince so, but the Royal Daughter and her Consort aren’t strangers to power and the perils that come with it. There never was a fury like the one in Talia’s eyes when Ra’s overstepped his boundaries and tried to begin training Damian in the ways of killing before Talia had even allowed him to learn the ways of defending. There never had been a furor like the one in Bruce’s eyes when a visiting royal had wanted Jason and Damian for his harem.

( _“I would, of course, return him when he reached majority,” the king said, and Bruce’s eyes could have set the palace on fire._

_“You will leave this land, with your falsities, with your pompous weakness and your dishonorable intentions,” the Desert King had told the man, before Bruce could do something that would get him killed._

_And Jason had not gone to bed with the Royal Daughter and her Consort that night, but instead had wrapped himself around the boy he had sworn to protect and let the thirteen year old shake against his chest for fear, for even Ra’s’ actions had not proven what the two of them needed; he had not given them up this time, but one day- one day, he might still_.)

————-

When the winter winds blow harsh across the dunes, he sits on the highest turret and clutches at the edge of the stone, looking off across the land that the stars shine down upon so brightly. There were nights like these in the winters of the loving-time, when Jason and Dité were not cast aside and left behind. He remembers the first ones, before Dité had arrived, when he bit his pillow and cried out, when he glared at the Royal Daughter’s Consort because his god stood tall and warm like a summer sun, but he was not allowed to touch.

He remembers the times that he had curled in his covers and beat the stones, for he knew that the bed was warm, so warm, with Dité breathing hot cries against it and Talia rocking the mattress as she took the older boy apart thrust by thrust. 

(He knew that Bruce knew that he had watched, that he had shivered and bit his lip when he saw the way that Dité rested his cheek on his forearms and rocked back into Talia’s hips. He knew that Bruce knew that he had known the way the leather straps curled around Talia’s thighs and he had known the sounds of Dité coming hard across the silk.)

In the mornings Bruce had watched him, dragged one sword-callous across the soft line of his throat before kissing his temple and leaving with Talia for their duties. (When he finally reached sixteen summers, that same place Bruce had always caressed became the place that he always bit-kissed-licked-sucked, the place that Jason always held a purple bruise from his lover.)

But the night that had hurt the most, the night that he still shudders in his stomach to remember, was the night he first heard Bruce sob quietly against the sweat-slick skin of Talia’s shoulder, his hands curled up in Dité’s and his head thrashing against the pillow. Dité’s red cheeks, hot in the dark shadows of the bed, pressed to Bruce’s hair, and his dark eyes watched the place where Talia’s strong hands had shoved her Consort’s legs up, had spread him wide and taken his power with the sweet-sick exhaustion of pleasure. Jason screamed into the pillows when they had finally taken their leave of consciousness and slept, tangled together, sweaty and still smelling of the sex they’d had, Bruce’s legs still spread wide and Talia’s glass cock lying back in its carved wooden box next to the carefully cleaned harness.

Because Bruce would know if he took himself in hand; Bruce would know if he crept off to the baths and bit his fingers to keep quiet and gave in to the heat, hot and aching in his stomach. He tossed and turned, the cotton of his sleep pants rubbing across his cock until he couldn’t stand it any longer and he whimpered into the shadows of the room from his bed across the room from all his not-yet-lovers, shoving his hand down and grasping himself.

Jason scrapes his fingernails across his thigh in the here and now, shrugging his shoulders and pulling the cloak tighter around him, and he knows what was next like he knows the back of his hand, laughing out in the crisp cold air.

“Jason,” Bruce’s voice called out in the darkness, and he almost sobbed, back then, fourteen summers and frustrated beyond belief.

“Yes, my highest?” he stuttered out, clenching his fist one more time before he slowly dragged it from his clothes and sat up, crossing his legs and hiding his fierce need with the mass of blankets.

“Sleep, little love-of-mine,” Bruce had told him, bare feet padding across the stones after the large man had untangled himself from his lovers and limped down from the bed. Jason stared up at him, blue eyes aching, but Bruce had simply kissed that place on Jason’s temple and pressed him gently down into his bed again, stroking his fingers across Jason’s brow and hair until he’d fallen asleep, an hour later, with Bruce’s weight pressing the mattress down on his right side.

He did not say anything, but Jason knows that Bruce had known; he had known how much Jason wanted him, and how sweet it would be once Jason was finally old enough to share the sea of sheets that spread across the Royal Daughter and her Consort’s bed.

And it was- it was sweeter than Jason had thought it could be.

He tears at the cloak a little, absentmindedly, but the winter air is not getting warmer and the night does not get longer than this, so he takes the steps back down to where Dité is sleeping in front of the biggest fireplace in the Prince’s harem quarters, his memories trailing behind him like the train of a wedding dress, floating and pale in the moon-light-pools. The clasp is easy to undo, even with his fingers shaking a little with how much he misses the touch of his lost-loves, and he curls around Dité’s body without even thinking about it, the older man nuzzling against him in his sleep. (If Jason was not so heart-heavy, he would clasp Dité’s thighs and part them, kiss his stomach, fluttering in his sleep, and stroke Dité away with the slick heat of the flat of his tongue.)

And  _oh_ , he sleeps, but  ** _oh_** , he  _wants_ , so deep and painfully that it makes his bones ache.

( _But what he does not know is that out there, in the dunes, in the moon-time, there are horses; horses and caravans, traveling towards the great Palace of the Desert King-  bringing Dité and Jason their loves again_.)

 


End file.
